


Lost and Found

by Phylix



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, M/M, McCree has dogs, cabin in the woods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 10:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15750228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phylix/pseuds/Phylix
Summary: The invite had been a spirited moment (A whiskey sour chased with a dark lager from Germany).  He had mentioned in passing that he, like many others, had a place away from the concrete bunker of Gibraltar that he called home.  His mouth spoke faster than his brain as he opened up and spilled everything to the man sitting across. He then proceeded to offer his cabin up to him as a refuge, if he ever needed it of course.  Never once did he assume that the man would take him up on his offer.A rustic cabin in the woods just sounded so far beneath Hanzo Shimada.





	Lost and Found

Winter seemed impossible to evict. The mountains were still beautifully snowcapped. In the morning, the eastern light would hit them in such a way. It looked as if some master artist had painstakingly painted the sky and land onto some elaborate canvas. Jesse could see it all from his balcony as it hung over the edge of the ravine. Most mornings he would pour a cup of thick, black coffee, kick his feet up and watch the haze of night, the soft velvety blues and purples suddenly burst into glorious greens and reds. Jesse feared to blink in these quiet moments, knowing how fleeting these moments were. And miss it he did whenever he was away.

Springtime always seemed to settle slowly in the mountains. It would lazily creep up the side of the hills as if God himself were not willing to relinquish the snow and the beauty of the snow-capped peaks just yet. It was easily Jesse’s favorite time of year. The warmth of spring desperately trying to open up and allow nature to explode back into life as the sun radiated enough heat to melt away the final remains of the cold, but that beautiful chill lingered as the stars blazed to life at night, leaving him to depend on a warm fire to banish the frost away.

Jesse took another deep breath of crisp air and held it in his lungs until it began to burn. It was only for a moment before slowly, he released it back out into the world attached to hope and prayer.

Would it be enough?

This place fell into his lap, entirely on accident. Blackwatch had been hired out as a bounty hunter. Federal authorities were unable to find a wanted fugitive and Jesse was nothing but thrilled at the prospect of repaying his debt. Jesse had been a runt of a kid still, skinny in all the wrong places with lanky arms and legs. His head two sizes too big, and he had an ego to match. Taking in an old man three times his age shouldn’t have been that difficult. He ran his mouth though, and Reyes made it take it alone. Teach him some manners, or some other bullshit lesson Jesse was too cocksure to realize he needed.

It was meant to be a simple job; a man recently paroled killed two men then went on the lam. It took Jesse two month to track the man down, leading him straight to the most serene sight he had ever witnessed. The old man, his face leathered and wrinkled from the elements and time, sat on the back deck. A sizeable Cuban cigar hung between his teeth as he idly chewed it while puffing out large white plumes of smoke. Black eyes watched Jesse as he approached, a slight disapproving scowl on the man’s face as if Jesse were late for a long overdue appointment. The man reached up and tipped the brim of his hat as a greeting, and that was that.

“Yer Late,” The man wheezed out, his voice thick and as mangled as the rest of him. He sat forward and motioned to the empty seat next to him and the drink already poured.

Jesse spent that day seated next to the man. He listened to the man reminiscence about the ‘good old days.’ He spoke at length, justifying his reasons for killing those men. Justifying why he should shoot any goddamn headhunter that stepped foot on his land. Jesse sat back, enjoying his whiskey and cigars until well after the sun had dipped below the horizon and darkness descended on them both.

The man had taken one long, final draw on his cigar and looked over at the gunslinger next to him. “Recon’ it’s time you take me in now, yeah?”

The man died a few months later in prison. Jesse received a letter after a mission, granting him as the sole beneficiary to the man. The owner of a rundown shack in the middle of the damn mountains too far away from civilization to be anything but a burden.

It was heaven.

The rocks crunched under Jesse's feet as he stepped down off the deck and to the gravel path that led down to his mailbox-- His morning ritual of gathering information from the outside world. Most of the time, the world beyond forgot he even existed. It was rare for the postman to stop at the rusting, grey box at the bottom of the winding hill. Still, it was a habit. It granted him time to check over his surveillance equipment and make sure that his location was secure.

And he was happy with the solitude. Happy letting the people he met in the market and on the street think he was some rich asshole who came to town infrequently and stayed only for a week or two during various hunting seasons just to be gone again without a single word of departure.

Wealth, or at least perceived wealth, was an excellent cover for eccentric behaviors. A poor man wandering into town and buying a bunker’s worth of food was alarming. It raised people’s hackles. That was how police became involved, and he was forced to come up with excuses. Flash a wad of cash and staying generous with his tipping of waitstaff only proved he was filthy-stinking-rich. People do not question the elite.

And they left him alone.

And he liked it that way.

Jesse shoved his hands deep inside the pockets of his blue jeans and jingled at the keys inside. Nerves bubbled deep in his belly and dropped down into his gut like a lead weight. The feeling persisted all morning. That morning, it was a small tick of excitement that grew and festered into an all-out worry that tingled through his veins.

The cabin was his solitude and retreat. It was his corner of the universe, and he had not allowed anyone into his innermost sanctum before. And now, in less than two hours, he would be forced to entertain. He would be forced to share his location with another person. He would need to be seen not as Jesse McCree, former Blackwatch member and current outlaw (and member of the newly, secretly recommitted Overwatch) but as the man who found an almost spiritual awakening in these trees. A man who was softer on the outside than he cared to admit. A man that still felt like that lanky kid seated next to the old outlaw and wondering about his place in this horrible world.

It terrified him.

The invite had been a spirited moment (A whiskey sour chased with a dark lager from Germany). He had mentioned in passing that he, like many others, had a place away from the concrete bunker of Gibraltar that he called home. His mouth spoke faster than his brain as he opened up and spilled everything to the man sitting across. He then proceeded to offer his cabin up to him as a refuge, if he ever needed it of course. Never once did he assume that the man would take him up on his offer.

A rustic cabin in the woods just sounded so far beneath Hanzo Shimada.

It was true that his crush on the other man was the worst kept secret in the whole base. It wasn’t that he ever tried to hide the moon eyes he gave the assassin when he turned his back. It wasn’t Jesse’s fault that broad shoulders with strong arms were precisely kind of thing that he looked for in a man either. It took very little from the aloof man to send Jesse into a death spiral of want and need. “It is just like the good old days,” Genji teased and poked at him. “Except this one won’t fall for your advances.”

And to his surprise, one day Hanzo cornered him in the med center. He all but demanded to know when Jesse would return to his cabin, then told him the exact date he would arrive.

Jesse was fortunate enough to gain time off from Winston. The de facto leader was thrilled that Jesse was finally taking some time for himself to rest without being forced. He granted him extra time even.

Then the panic set in.

His cabin was in decent condition, but not great. He could see the cracks in the foundation that he patched up. The furniture inside was a mishmash of pieces found at the local thrift shop and garage sales that he slowly put together over the years (plus a dining set taken from the Overwatch mess hall when no one was looking). Nothing neat. Nothing organized.

Jesse pulled his hands free and opened the small grey mailbox and peered inside. Finding nothing, he shut it again and headed left, taking the long path back up to the house.

Two hours and Hanzo-fucking-Shimada would be in his home.

_________

Hanzo twisted the paper ticket in his hand as he stared out the window of the plane. He hated flying. He hated being in the air for so long, surrounded by strange people that could be potential assassins and there was no way for him to escape.

Winston had granted him false identification cards, stating that travel would allow him some privacy without broadcasting his true identity to the world. But anyone from the clan would readily recognize him. It didn’t matter that he shaved half his head, put studs into his ears and nose and changed his style of dress. He was Shimada Hanzo, heir to the clan. Dragon. A wanted man by both authorities and those now ruling over his empire.

There was no way he could fly into the United States without being noticed.

He unfolded the paper ticket and flattened it out on his knee. He stared down at the unfamiliar name printed on the ticket. Genji assured Hanzo that no one would look in his direction. To them, he was just another man on a plane. He was only traveling. McCree would pick him up at the airport. Things would be fine. McCree would pick him up. He would be spending a week at McCree’s house for mandatory rest.

Hanzo repeated that mantra over and over in his head as the fight attendant moved through the aisle, handing out soft drinks and pretzels to passengers along the way.

Mandatory rest. It was ridiculous that woman, Angela, said anything to him at all. He had been slow in practice only once, taking half a second longer to draw his bow back and suddenly there was an issue. It was not to the detriment of the team practice and yet she insisted and him aside for a full physical. She poked and prodded at him until he felt ready to snap. Then she had the gall to restrict him from all mission roster until further notice.

Overworked, she wrote in his file. Overtired. A liability.

It was absurd. Hanzo had trained under far greater restrictions than foam bats and laser guns in training. He spent years evading authorities, Overwatch, and even his own damn family. It took years to build up the stamina to stay vigilant for days on end. And all of that did not matter one bit to the doctor.

She signed his report and sent him out. He was to leave the base. Go somewhere else that did not involve strategizing or battle plans or Talon. He was to rest. Of course their fearless leader, Winson agreed to it. He was bound and determined to listen to everything the heinous woman stated. e

The final straw was when Genji appeared in his room and repeated, verbatim, exactly what Angela had told him, telling him to leave base “for only a week” and rest. To revive himself and feel like a new man before he returned.

It was a nightmare.

Hanzo looked down once again at the paper ticket, now twisted and crumpled in his hands, another thing he mistakenly destroyed and frowned deeper. Genji told him it was a vacation. It would be like they were when boys. Go to a place, sleep for a week, then return ready to face new missions.

With that, he turned to the only person he could trust now.

It was easy for Hanzo to open up around McCree. He was as familiar as a worn book when it came to his feelings, a sustaining force that always seemed to exist in the same spaces he frequented, never demanding, never condescending. Hanzo appreciated his modest ways.

It started the day Hanzo first appeared on base. Genji formally introduced Hanzo to each member of the organization with a reverence Hanzo had never seen before in the man. His calm attitude and sureness quickly quelled any lingering suspicions and fears from his team until each of them reluctantly welcomed him into the fold. That is, except McCree.

The cowboy leaned against the wall, chewing on the end of a toothpick as he carefully watched Hanzo without saying a word, the brim of his wide hat hung low, shielding his face from Hanzo and leaving him to wonder what the American’s game was. Once they were alone, he bullied Hanzo into the corner.

“Your brother there seems to think you’ve gone and changed. I ain’t your judge, but know I’m watchin’ you, Shimada.”

It was a surprise to even Hanzo how much he respected the straightforwardness. Others still gave him a wide berth. They treated him as if he were a wild animal, loose in the facility and they were yet unsure if he should be left to mind his ways, or if he needed to be put down. In return, he did his best to not quest for them either. It was mutual respect for privacy.

McCree was, once again, the outlier. It happened gradually, meeting up at night in the base's lone common room after nights of unrest. Both sought out a reprieve from the idleness that nights like that presented. He could not lay in bed and imagine the horrors of his life any more than McCree could.

It started with drinking. Not enough to get drunk, but enough to calm the nerves and rest the spirit. Enough to begin to want to share his time with another person and allowing him to open up in the smallest of ways. McCree had that effect on him. He would do nothing more than sit and sip at the amber liquid in front of him and wait for Hanzo to break the silence himself.

It evolved from there. Small conversations on the battlefield, little quips, and challenges. Simple ways to keep their sanity while the world felt like it crumbled around them.

Then he kissed him. Hanzo could not recall who moved first, or how it happened, just that one moment they were together, huddled under an awning to keep away the drizzle of rain that started to fall amidst the battle. He had taken to bandaging up one of the many bruises along the other’s forearm, his thumb tracing over the ridges of an ancient scar and then...

McCree’s lips were soft as they moved against his own. His hands tenderly cupped Hanzo’s face in both his strong hands, holding him like he was the most precious thing in the world. They moved together slowly, almost afraid that at any moment the other would pull away, call this out as some game and forget it ever happened. But he held firm. And McCree held him back so softly in his arms, almost as if he were afraid that Hanzo would break into a million fragile pieces if he did anything more.

In a way, he did. Hanzo shattered the moment the other man pulled away, and he could see those soft eyes and warm mouth. He could see the freckles that dotted along the bridge of McCree’s nose and over his cheeks, mostly hidden by the scruff of his beard and the tan of his skin. But while this close, close enough to smell the sage and sandalwood that clung to his clothing, all he could picture was those warm amber eyes and how they shone with so much tenderness. Tenderness Hanzo did not deserve and yet…

Hanzo smiled fondly and reached up, touching his lips again.

That was one kindness in his forced exile. He was heading to McCree’s home. He never thought of the cowboy as a homeowner, but then again, he was heading straight into the Rocky Mountains. It was as cliche, but it still felt appropriate. He could almost picture it now, one room, cluttered with trinkets and other whatnots. Secluded away and cold enough where they would be forced to curl up together in front of the fire. It felt cliche to want something that felt like it manifested right out of a poorly written romance novel.

But then again, they became cliche because people must have craved them.

Hanzo closed his eyes and relaxed back into the seat as the overhead alert pinged on. Soon they would be landing. Soon he would be with McCree in his cabin by the woods. Maybe there would be a lake as well.

He dreamed.

_________

Jesse’s fingers drummed against the steering wheel as he watched the steady flow of people entering and exiting the terminal while he resisted the urge to check on Hanzo’s flight yet again. He had found the marked exits easily, and after only a few goings around, found a place to park and wait.

The flight was on time that he was sure. A half hour ago he had checked on the flight's trajectory and found that it had, indeed, landed. He had watched as a steady stream of passengers exited to the parking lot. Hanzo had not been among them.

He looked at the blank screen of his phone again and resisted the urge to call the man as an unpleasant dread filled his gut. Calling was out of the question. They did not have that kind of relationship. They were both independent men and did not need someone checking in for being only an hour later than expected.

It wasn’t like he texted Genji before he left to make sure that Hanzo had gotten on the plane. There was no constant worry that Hanzo had, at the last minute, realized the intimacy of staying a week with a colleague that he happened to have kissed on a handful of occasions. That just maybe running to another continent with said man put a lot of pressure on a non-relationship and he realized how idiotic it was to spent his free time in a cabin in the middle of nowhere instead of in some seaside beach resort.

No, there was no reason to panic.

His fingers went back to drumming again as he worried his lower lip between his teeth as he watched the glass doors slide open again. A fresh wave of passengers filed out of the terminal in organized chaos. Jesse sharp gaze filed over their heads, seeking out that familiar face in the crowd once again.

Jesse would never admit the immediate relief that washed over him as finally, finally Hanzo stepped into the brilliant light of the day with a single bag slung casually over his shoulder, as if the bag’s weight did not impact him in the slightest. Hanzo Shimada was here. He did come. And he looked.

There was nothing subtle about Hanzo Shimada, that was certain. He stood like a mountain, forcing people to move out of his way as a deep frown set on his perfectly chiseled features. A pair of oversized, reflective sunglasses his Hanzo's striking eyes from view. If he didn’t know better, he would have assumed Hanzo was a man on a mission. He demanded attention.

Jesse was more than happy to provide him with that.

He sat forward in the driver’s seat and leaned his chin against the steering wheel as he watched the man stop at the curb and let out a huff of indignation. He could not tear his gaze away. Too often Jesse saw the man in little more than his gear, a traditional dark gi built for performance and comfort on the battlefield over style. But Hanzo was here, in a pair of the tightest black jeans Jesse had ever seen and a zipped up black jacket embossed with a golden dragon on the back.

Of course, Hanzo would wear dragons.

Hanzo let out another irritated huff and cocked out his hip to the side as he pulled the phone from his impossibly (blessedly) tight jeans.

Jesse knew he should do something; honk or crack the window. Catch the archer’s attention in some subtle way. End his suffering. But instead, Jesse sat transfixed. Hanzo was beyond beautiful. Especially now. He looked natural, despite looking as angry as a wet cat.

He had the right to be pissed too. It took not one, but two flights to get him from Spain to Colorado, leaving Hanzo with the anxiety that always came when you had to jump from one plane to another, especially in New York. Sleep would not have come to a man whose eyes still watched for assassins. Hanzo held very little patience for people and idiocy, two things that infested commercial airlines. Both did nothing to help the experience one bit. It was loud and crowded. Men and women in cheap, polyester uniforms pushed and ordered around. They required him to check his one suitcase and even had the audacity to make him pay extra once he relinquished his belongings. People did not bend to his will there. And he was a man accustomed to having people listen.

Jesse’s phone vibrated. He smirked and answered right away. “To your left, Pumpkin. Red truck.” He honked his horn twice for good measure.

Hanzo turned on heel to look. His frown deepened at the sound of the double honk, which did little but made Jesse’s heart flutter wildly in his chest. Jesse rolled down the window and stuck his hand out, waving to the man as he honked a third time for good measure.

Hanzo dropped his hand and stalked to the truck, looking even angrier than he had previously. Jesse felt the blood run cold in his veins as the man threw his bag into the bed of the truck with very little care for his possessions before he pulled the door open with enough force to almost hit the car next to them. “You are late,” He hissed as he slumped into the passenger seat.

“I was here on time,” Jesse gave his biggest smile as he gazed over. It was apparent that Hanzo was not looking for a response as the sour look was directed strictly at Jesse. Immediately the subject was changed. “I always knew you were a resourceful man, but that single bag looks mighty light. I figured you to have a suitcase of some kind.”

Hanzo crossed his arms over his chest and let out an audible huff. His frown seemed to deepen even more as his eyebrows knitted together. If Jesse didn’t know better, he would have sworn Hanzo was pouting. “No.”

“Babe,” He chuckled and looped his arm around the back of the passenger seat as he looked over at the other man. “Ain’t no rush here. I can wait if you need to go to-”

“It was not on the plane,” Hanzo snarled, his teeth clenched. “there was a mix up at the airport. They must have sent it on another plane. I came to the mountains. My gear is in the Bahamas. I am not to worry though because if they do find it, they will mail it back home for free.”

Jesse opened his mouth to respond and closed it again. Making a crack about how he was sure Hanzo’s clothes would hate the beach because sand would get everywhere would just be pushing his luck. He swore under his breath and moved his hand on the other man’s knee and gave a light squeeze. “Do ya need me to go in and talk to them?”

“We already had words,” Hanzo stated. “Nothing else can be done.”

“Did you have anything important-”

“Clothes,” He answered.

“Do you want-”

“No.”

Monosyllabic answers were never a good sign. Jesse swallowed back the anxiety that once again rose in his throat and pulled his hand away slowly. He put the truck into drive and started off, maneuvering around the other waiting vehicles and exiting the small airport and merged onto the freeway.

Silence spread between them as he exited the city and started the long drive into the mountains. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak.

Words failed him.

Hanzo was a man of routine and expectations. He knew this from months of preparation and team building. He was a man that required order with all things in life, and failure on either of those points was the worst kind of offense.

Jesse swallowed the rise of worry that built in the back of his throat. It had not been the first time an airline misplaced a bag. He had lost several over the years. Experience had taught him that the only thing lost were objects. It was the nature of material objects to come and go. Things went missing all the time. Stuff was replaceable.

That wasn't in Hanzo' nature though. Hanzo spent years on the run, carrying every belonging he owned on his back. To him, it was not a case of lost luggage. It was not a minor infraction.

“So,” Jesse started, hoping that the words would just come to him naturally as they did while on a job. He faltered again at finding a tail end of his thought. Jesse swallowed at the lump that formed in his throat, wanting it to drop back into his stomach instead of feeling the familiar bile that bit at the back of his tongue. He needed to salvage this trip. He wanted for Hanzo to quell his anger and look at him with the same adoration that he felt whenever the archer entered a room.

He didn’t want to be on the blunt end of that rage.

Hanzo groaned and pressed the palms of his hands against the eyes and leaned forward in his seat, his shoulders hunched. “I apologize, Mr. McCree. I did not want to start this way,” His words trailed off and hung in the air. “I did not wish for you to see this side of me.”

“No need for that,” He glanced over at the man next to him. “It’s just clothes. It’s things.” He reached out again and laced his fingers between Hanzo’s and squeezed gently. He remained quiet until Hanzo let out a long exhale of breath and sat back up.

“I know you are dying to make some quip about how my clothes would not enjoy the beach anyway. Go ahead and get it over with,” Hanzo’s shoulders relaxed, if only a fraction and his hold on Jesse’s hand tightened.

“I wasn’t going to say anything of the like. I was going to say you would like the mountains more than the beach anyway. That way we can’t tell if it’s the weather or your attitude that’s frosting the windows over.”

Hanzo chuckled.

Jesse relaxed.

“Besides the lost luggage, how was the flight?” He tried.

Hanzo inhaled sharply. “It was a commercial plane. They showed a movie on the way over from Spain. It was awful. Some child’s story about a man learning to love his family more than his job. ” He paused and looked down at their joined hands. “But that is over now. I am here.”

“Naw, Darlin’,” Jesse let a soft smile spread over his face as he sat back. His heart fluttered wildly in his chest as his thumb slowly rolled over Hanzo’s. “I want the full review. Gimme all the details about it."

_______

It still felt like a dream, like any moment he would wake up alone in some washed up Deadlock bunker, waiting for his life to start. That terrible thought always clawed at the back of his mind, that everything he ever knew or loved was one big figment of his imagination and one day he would wake up, and all of it would be gone.

He had stopped at a consignment shop just outside of town and handed Hanzo a wad of cash, telling him to go nuts. The village was pleasant enough, with kitschy little boutiques all along the town square, but all of them were beyond what he saw as Hanzo’s preferred style.

Settled back in the 1800’s as a lumber camp, it had sat as a lonely rural mountain town for years, forgotten and alone. That is until some of the more uppity seasonal tourists decided that other resort towns were too commercial and too crowded for their like. It didn’t take long for others to learn about the wild community in the mountains that was much more rustic than places like Aspen, but still houses a lake (a reservoir) with its Yacht club, elite camping facilities, and the cutest little main street. All of it built in under a decade to resemble a bygone year that never existed. But damn if it didn’t look authentic enough.

With the rugged appearance of the town, the folks that traveled here relished in one of two styles. The first, Country Western Rockstar, consisted of overpriced and bedazzled flannel shirts, stiff blue jeans that cost more than most people’s monthly wages and shined up leather boots with silver tassels and buckles. They were supposed to make the wearer look like they the salt-of-the-earth types.

The other favored style of dress was Broke Hipster. It was equally as overpriced, and often also involved flannel shirts, but there were far fewer fringe and leather. The look also expected the person to look broke as shit and had the added benefit of snobbish attitudes of overpriced coffees.

There was, of course, a secret the third option. It was the most economical choice of the three and where the locals would shop. It was not an option. Not ever. McCree was certain Hanzo would shoot him in the parking lot if he even dared to take him to Walmart.

It was a chance, but McCree decided Hanzo would prefer to look like a hipster over a cowboy.

“This is not necessary,” Hanzo muttered as the woman behind the counter carefully folded each item and placed it inside the stylish reusable bag. He had found several things that would get him through the week without needing to wash his clothes every night.

“Ain’t no thing,” Jesse felt something like pride rise through his chest as the woman handed over the bag with a fond ‘thank you’. He snaked his metal arm around Hanzo’s waist and pulled the other closer. “Bet yer tired and all from the travelin’, but I bet yer more hungry.”

To his delight, Hanzo leaned into his hold and let out a low hum just as his stomach rumbled. “True,” He sighed. “But I would rather a bed over a meal at this moment.”

“We can compromise,” Jesse muttered as he led him back to the truck. “I take you home, get you nice and comfy, run those through the wash and make you some lunch.”

Hanzo let out a hum as an answer and leaned further into Jesse’s side. “That is acceptable.” His voice was a rumble, low in his throat and heavy with sleep.

“First though,” His hand moved slowly up Hanzo’s back along his spine as he led him towards the truck. “I think you can get a good catnap in while we drive.”

________

Hanzo felt the warm sun on the side of his face. He slowly woke out of his dreamless slumber, suddenly wondering when he had drifted off. McCree was very persistent when he coaxed Hanzo into the cramped back seat of the truck. Hanzo had little motivation to argue at that point.

It was easier to lay in the back. Even with Hanzo's broad frame, he was able to tuck his legs up and use his arm as a makeshift pillow. It was not a perfect comfort, but it was warm and safe with the gentle hum of the engine and the sway of the road beneath them.

“Babe,” The words were whispered near him, without any touch. He curled his arms tighter around himself. The soft, baritone words repeated in an attempt to rouse him from his slumber. To his chagrin, it worked.

“What is it, McCree?” His voice cracked with sleep.

A warm hand touched down on his shoulder and pulled him further away from the bliss of dreamless sleep. “We’re here. Got your stuff in already and assumed you didn’t want to stay in the back of the truck.”

Hanzo let out another tired groan and pushed himself up to sitting. He blinked as the light of the afternoon blinded him. In front, the passenger seat had been pulled forward, giving him an exit out of the vehicle while his host sat turned towards him in the driver seat.

McCree looked well rested for once. His beard was neatly trimmed, framing his sculpted cheeks and jaw while still giving him that rogueish air that was the cornerstone of his personality. The dark circles under his eyes were less intense and more well rested. He looked a decade younger. He was even more handsome.

Hanzo groaned and ran the palm of his hand over his own puffed and bloodshot eyes, suddenly self-conscious of his appearance. For once, he was the disheveled one of the pair. “Where are we?”

“Can’t say,” That imp-like smile spread over McCree’s face as he stepped out of the car. “I mean, if I did it would compromise my whole base of operations here.”

Hanzo raised an eyebrow as he stepped out of the car and onto the freshly graveled road, hearing the rock crunch under his foot. “Really?”

“We’re in the mountains, ‘bout fifteen miles from the nearest town,” McCree answered, slamming the door to the truck closed. “I could tell you which mountain we were on and the exact coordinates, but would that matter? Allow me to show you around a bit. Get you acquainted.” He moved around and put his arm around Hanzo again. “Unless you need a longer catnap.”

Hanzo contemplated the need for more sleep before shaking his head. “It is important to know the location of everything.”

McCree let out a hearty chuckle and leaned in, pressing his lips against Hanzo’s forehead quickly before pulling back. “Ain’t no way we are being attacked up here, sweetheart. We are on vacation. Forced to rest. My plan for the week is to get you inside and not let you leave until you are putty in my hands.”

Hanzo felt a warmth spread through him at the soft drawl of the man’s voice and the delicate scratch from the stubble of his cheek against Hanzo’s forehead where his lips had been. He leaned against the other man again, wanting to feel his closeness. “I have not been on a vacation since I was a child,” He mused. “Our parents brought us to the beach for a weekend.”

“Well then, you are due for one,” McCree peppered his forehead with more chaste kisses before pulling away. “Garage is over there,” He pointed to a large building to the south. “It’s got woodworking supplies and a full tool shed. I’ve made some side money out here restoring vintage cars an’ there are a few projects of mine in there. Ain’t nothin’ special though. I like to be self-reliant when out here, so if anything needs fixin’, there are probably parts for it in there.”

Hanzo hummed, and half listened as McCree walked him down the gravel road that led further to the cabin. This place was settled far up off the main road, most people who passed only assumed it was a hunting cabin. In the winter, it was entirely cut off from civilization as the road would be impassable during any snow storm. Due to that, people rarely stopped off here, though, in the summer, tourist cars would pass along the small road that twisted at the base of the mountain as they traveled off the beaten path.

It was rustic and away from people, which Hanzo decided he liked immensely, even if there was no internet connection. McCree assured him that Athena would still be able to reach them, as would the rest of Overwatch in the case of an emergency. Other than that, they were devoid of every modern comfort. They were off the grid, quite literally.

With every step, Hanzo felt himself relax a little more.

“Did you build this place yourself?” Hanzo asked as McCree circled them back to towards the backside of the house. The smell of pine overwhelmed his senses. He relaxed further into his warm arm.

“More like I Inherited it. Fixed everything here by hand though. Last summer, I re-roofed the garage and main house. Summer before that I redid the siding. Next step is the plumbing. Speaking of which,” He pointed to a small shed. “Outhouse.”

Hanzo felt the blood drain from his face as he pulled away from the other man, gazing at his neutral face. “Out...house?” He asked, his brain processing what he had just heard. He licked his dry lips and looked back to the square brown building, just large enough to hold maybe three people.

“Yeah, running water is an issue out here, since we are in the mountains. That there also has the pump so you can draw your water for a shower. Well,” Jesse frowned and turned his gaze upward. “I say shower, but it’s more like a bucket with holes in the bottom. Ya gotta clean it out after you finish though, to make sure there isn’t mold build up, but you can toss it down the hole in there anyway. Either way, you don’t wanna spend too much time in there.”

Hanzo’s eyes darted back to the truck as McCree’s hand pushed against his back, forcing him to move closer to the small outbuilding just behind the house. His heels dug into the dirt with every step closer. His ears rang with McCree's words. This house that sat far away from all civilization. A place that would not be hooked up to the modern amenities, like the internet or television.

The small building loomed with every approaching step. Hanzo's heart began to pound in his throat as he thought about those words. What amenities did McCree see as 'Modern'?

Did indoor plumbing qualify as a modern appliance?

They were at least fifteen miles from the town, Hanzo reasoned. If he needed to, he could walk away. It would not be too challenging to disappear into the woods and never return-

McCree let out a hoot of laughter, cutting his thoughts short. “Shit, Genji told me you would fall for that.” He pulled away and moved over, opening up the door to the building and stepped back and letting Hanzo get a good view of the dark interior.

Inside was not what Hanzo expected to see. There was no hole in the ground covered by a plank of wood. There was not a bucket with holes in the bottom that served as a shower. Instead, he saw bags of fertilizer and shovels. Small garden shears and trowels were meticulously placed along the wall hooks, hung with care next to a stack of terracotta pots and watering cans.

“You-” He started.

“There is indoor plumbing, Sweat Pea,” McCree chuckled. “I redid the pipes the first year I was here, put in a whole new heating system too. Pipes go under the floorboards and heat up the whole place with hot water. Sure, it’s connected to well-water, and once a year I gotta have someone come in and help with the septic tank, but you will not have to worry about that at all.”

Hanzo felt his eyes close. He let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding. “Imbecile,” He said with a smile. “You had me thinking-”

“What?” McCree stepped back and raised his hands in defense. “It was all Genji’s idea to tell you that. He’s the one that thought it would be funny. Now come on, let me show you the garden real quick, then I’ll show you around inside.”

Hanzo shut the door to the garden shed and quietly followed McCree. “If that were what you said it was, I would have had to drown you in that latrine.”

McCree laughed again, and Hanzo felt the flutter run through him at the sound. McCree laughed a lot up here. He seemed more at ease in the comforts of nature than he ever did at the watchpoint.

McCree moved them further down the back side of the house to a set of stone stairs that lead down to a plot of land that evened out that was fenced off with a sturdy wooden fence railing and surrounded by chicken wire. From inside, he could see sprigs of green popping up between the wilted dead plants. Even so, he could see the careful small plots of land separated by a thin brick walkway.

“I used to come here nearly every summer and lay low while my bounty went up. Spent a lot of time growin’ my food and takin’ care of myself,” McCree explained as he opened the gate and stepped into the area. “Since Overwatch though, I haven’t been here, and this is a right ol’ mess.” He clicked his tongue and put his hands on his hips as he turned and looked around at the mess of dead plants. “It’s spring, so I could get to clear’ all this out, but I wonder the point of it when in a week I’ll be gone and won’t probably be back until next year.”

“I would have never figured you as the farming type, Cowboy,” Hanzo smiled as he leaned against the wood railing. “It is a pity I won’t get to see that.”

“Won’t get to see it?” McCree turned, his eyebrows raised. “Hell, baby, I am putting you to work cleaning this out. Rabbits and deer made a heyday of my bounty last year and I ain’t gonna disappoint them again.” He smiled. “‘Sides, we can harvest the seeds and bring them back to base. I’m sure Bastion would allow me a small plot of his garden.”

Hanzo leaned his chin against his hands and smiled as he watched the man work his way around the garden, plucking out the larger of the dead plants and throwing them over the side. He had not expected this to be a trip where he would be working with his hands. He pictured something very different in his mind, where he spent the day seated on a well worn, but comfortable couch in front of a holoscreen and watching whatever pointless drivel McCree chose as they lazed the day away.

Those thoughts were shuffled away as he watched the man work with his bare hands, reaching and pulling out dried and dead plants from the hard soil. The cowboy brushed the dirt away on his jeans as he used the toe of his boot to nudge aside some of the rocks.

McCree was not a man who sat still for long, even on base. He made an air of being lazy and unproductive. His laid-back attitude and lackluster style made it a fitting picture. But as Hanzo watched him over the months, he realized just how wrong he was about the man.

McCree used the act to get people to drop their defenses while around him. Tongues were looser around him, with people eager to spill their secrets in his presence. Hanzo himself had fallen for it.

McCree had been seated at the standard metal table in the mess hall, his boots propped up and crossed at the ankle. His hat hung low over his face shielding his eyes away from anyone who neared while his hands draped across his chest, fingers interlocked.

He was the picture of what a drunken stooper should have looked and why Hanzo decided to make the declaration of his affections to Genji in the first place. He found the man charming, but obnoxious. Polite, but straightforward. McCree was the polar opposite of every traditional value instilled in the Shimada brothers from their childhood, and yet, his sense of justice and honor aligned with Hanzo's moral code.

McCree called him out on his bullshit without fear. He was eager to hand out his praises to everyone on the team and took special care with acknowledging Hanzo's refined strengths. He laughed at every one of Hanzo’s terrible jokes and his taste in liquor was atrocious, but adequate.

Through it all, Genji had continued to tease more information from his brother until he felt satisfied that he said enough. He then turned on his heel and left the kitchen without another word. Hanzo should have recognized it was a trap from the beginning. Genji knew all of McCree’s tricks already. And the cowboy had heard it all.

It was then that Hanzo began to realize just how attuned McCree was to everything around him. How he never sat still for long, and instead found objects to fiddle with as he listened to meetings. How hyper-focused McCree became in the gym and at training. How the man Hanzo thought was the complete opposite of him in every way was, in fact, more akin to him than he ever realized.

Hanzo hummed in appreciation and closed his eyes again, comforted with the knowledge that here, he was safe.

“All right, let’s get you inside before you toast yourself, Sleeping Beauty,” McCree moved over into the ray of sunlight that washed over Hanzo’s face.

He frowned deeply. “I was not asleep, McCree. I was merely shading my eyes from the sun while you worked.”

“Do you often drool when you shade your eyes from the sun?” He teased.

“I never drool,” Hanzo let out a playful huff and stood to his full height and groaned at the soreness that settled into his bones.

“Says you, come on, let’s get you inside and on the couch. I promised you food, and I gotta go pick something up anyway.”

________

Hanzo frowned and sat impatiently on the couch in McCree’s absence, unsure of what to do. Throughout his life he had people wait for him hand-over-foot. Never had he been left in a strange house with nothing to do before. Even while on the run, he had never just been left alone.

McCree had insisted he stay and rest more, despite the protests He was going to pick up groceries, which was a tedious task that Hanzo was more than pleased to not be partaking in, but at the same time, he felt awkward.

The couch was a disturbing shade of sun-bleached orange and white with mismatched pillows of brown on either side, apparently not part of the set. None of the furniture around him felt like it belonged together. A recliner chair was angled with a side table next to it, perfectly angled so that it faced the television in the corner. The recliner was another shade of brown and looked at least a decade newer than the couch. A coffee table was before in with a glass top and covered in manila folders that detailed out talon agents long dead.

The television was the oldest piece of furniture by far, an old box set that Hanzo was sure would hum and scream when turned on. Countless wires snaked along the back and into the wall outlets and to the old VCR that sat on top of it. And on top of that was a pair of old rabbit ear antennas, the kind he had always heard about but had never seen.

On the shelf below were a stack of old VHS tapes, mostly black and white movies and westerns, though not as many as Hanzo assumed there would be. There was no internet service up here. No way to stream any movies or television. Instead, they would be forced to rely on the flimsy collection of tapes McCree owned, and whatever was on the local channels if he even received those.

Hanzo ran his hands over his jeans and frowned, his eye moving to the bag of items McCree had purchased for him earlier from that consignment shop. He had to repay the man for his kindness. He also needed to check in with the airline to see if they had found his luggage.

First, though, the clothes would need to be washed. Hanzo snatched the bag up off the floor and turned, walking towards the kitchen area before stopping. To begin with, Hanzo had no idea if McCree even had a washer. He was not opposed to hand washing each item in the sink, then laying them on the back porch to dry, but the modern convenience of a washer and dryer set would be beneficial.

There was only one way to find out though. He set the parcel on the counter and began to search the house. The kitchen was small with very little counter space. The whole house was relatively small, especially after spending time on a former military base. He had become accustomed to large workspaces and industrial grade appliances. Instead, McCree’s space was economical. A small stove with a range top sat next to the ancient looking refrigerator (That was empty except for a pint of mint ice cream, leftover pineapple pizza and about two dozen craft beers of various brands).

A metal sink came next in the line. Hanzo made a mental note that there was soap under the sink for washing his clothes. The woodwork was dated, dark with an almost green-like stain on the plain wooden cabinets. The cabinets were probably reclaimed wood from the forest outside he mused. He ran his hands over the linoleum countertops another shade of disgusting cream with orange flecks.

There was a countertop bar that opened up into the living room where he just was, where a few empty glasses sat, gathering specks of dust along the inside rim. It appeared McCree kept his place clean, but not at all tidy. He made another mental note to finish cleaning the space when given time, for his peace of mind.

Behind the kitchen was an exterior door. A small stone path led across the yard to McCree's workspace and the gravel road where McCree parked his truck. Near the house was another sitting space with two chairs and a small table with an ashtray for his cigars. From this direction, he could neither see the sunrise or sunset, but he could look deeper into the incline of the mountain.

Still, he could find no laundry.

He headed back through the living room and into the sunroom just beyond. The afternoon sun already cast a long beam of light across the warm floors. The center of the room lay baren of furniture, leaving the center rug to look inviting to lay down and rest. Around the room sat several short tables, scattered with pamphlets and books and several plants that seemed far too green to have survived the winter here alone.

A narrow end table sat propped near the windows with several framed photographs. The first one was a staged photograph of a much younger, scrawnier McCree with a younger girl in her early teens. His hand was placed comfortably on her shoulder while both forced smiles at the photographer. Hanzo lifted the photograph up and inspected it more closely.

The girl had a familiar crooked nose and gap-toothed smile as her hand rested over McCree’s. Her pink dress did nothing to complement her dark skin and flax hair. McCree himself was wearing what looked like an all too large suit and tie combination without his trademark hat. His hair was combed back and cut shorter than he had ever seen, his ears poked away from his head, too big for his small frame. They both looked less than pleased to be there and dressed the way they were.

Hanzo smiled at how small and awkward the man was in his younger years and absently wondered who the girl was and if McCree kept in contact with her. He set the photo back before picking up the second one.

This one was more candid. A downward shot of two dogs, smiling up at the person taking the picture. The one on the left was lopsided, with a pink tongue dangling out the side of his mouth with a slight cock to his head on the opposite side. A beautiful tawny gold with dark brown eyes. A lab mix of some sort, Hanzo concluded. The other down was slightly out of focus, as if in mid-spin. He could make out the grey coat with black patches (or was it a black coat with white spots?). Black ears complemented a white face with dark eyes. Almost certainly a mutt. Around this one’s neck was a bright red bandana with the same golden pattern of McCree’s serape.

Hanzo felt his chest tighten. McCree’s serape. McCree’s dogs.

He set the photo down gently and backed out of the room. Suddenly, it felt disingenuous to wander around the man’s house like a thief. He was staying here, of course, but he had not received permission to roam as freely as he was. He was here to look for the laundry, not pry into the man’s background.

But McCree had dogs. Two of them. At least at some point, he owned them. Never once had he heard the man speak of pets in the past, even while the others touted about their home lives and history, McCree’s always seemed to reflect his past. Blackwatch and Reyes, Bounty hunting and train robberies. Never this personal.

Never this.

Hanzo stomped back out to the living room and flopped back onto the couch, suddenly feeling more like an intruder. Suddenly, he felt like a trespasser on McCree's private affairs. A secluded part of McCree’s life has suddenly opened up to him, and he was unsure if the man even wanted him to be a part of that. Of course, the man had a whole life, thirty-seven years he walked the earth, and yet Hanzo could not picture him as anything but the loud, brash cowboy that stomped around the base.

He fidgeted with his hands and wished he had the foresight to pack away some supplies and give him something to do with his hands as he waited in the silence.

Would it be trespassing further if he went to look for the bathroom? His eye turned down the narrow hallway leading farther into the small house. No, of course, McCree would never scold him for wishing to use the facilities, he reasoned.

McCree was not the kind to scold him on anything, his mind countered. He was a guest, and it meant knowledge that Hanzo would have free reign over most of the house. It would also be reasonable for him to seek out his space for the week; a bed and dresser, possibly a closet.

But he had been told that McCree would show him around the inside when he came back.

He let out a loud, audible groan in the silence and held his head in his hands. Being the heir to the Shimada clan had been a more accessible path to follow than this. At least arms dealers had a strict code of conduct, and he was permitted to go where he pleased without making a social misstep.

He could always call Genji. Genji was a master of this domain. He could adapt to any social situation with ease and not feel like he was going to vomit at the sheer enormity of sitting in another’s private living space and not knowing if it were rude or not to look around.

Of course, Genji would laugh at him again, as if Hanzo’s discomfort was a source of entertainment to the man. He would have to traverse this alone and hope the cowboy would not think less of him for wandering around the house.

Hanzo folded his hands in front of him and hunched forward, carefully awaiting McCree’s return.

___________

“G’down!” Jesse swore as he was body checked into the side of his truck as two balls of fur leaped out of the back in a rush of tails and tongues. He could not help but laugh as the two mutts sprinted around his legs before chasing each other up and down the gravel road and finally into the woods.

For a while, he could see their sleek forms, leaping and bounding through the underbrush, followed by their delighted yips and barks, before they disappeared further into the woods. Once they had expertly picked up the scent of some rabbit or possum and were out of view, Jesse turned back to his truck and pulled out the bags of groceries.

It had been an adventure driving back up the hill with two excitable dogs, happy once again to master. It was a challenge to keep them in the back of his truck and not on his lap, where both of them demanded to be. London had taken to licking the back of his head and ears as he drove staying just out of the range of his hands, so he was unable to swat the old girl away. She knew it too, sitting on the floorboards and craning her neck upwards to let her long wet tongue drool copious amounts of spit and drool all over the back of his neck. She even went so far as to drop down every time the truck slowed, to make sure he couldn’t turn around and push her away.

Bandit was far worse. Using his sharp teeth, he demanded McCree’s hand, the one he wasn't using to steer with, and bit and nipped at the tender spots of flesh when the man focused more on the driving and less on the pets. His wet nose thrust upwards against his wrist and let out a pitiful howl every time Jesse attempted to push the dog back until he resolved to pet the damn dog.

Not that he minded. Soon, both animals settled more. He could feel the hard press of the lab at the back of his seat as London leaned her whole weight against Jesse, letting out long, low sighs as if she were somehow relieved to be back in his possession. Bandit likewise, settled, resting his head against the center console and let out tiny grunts and growls, to make sure Jesse knew he was still aware of him and to not step petting against his muzzle and ears.

They were good dogs. Both were mutts, like Jesse. He had taken them in and cleaned them up and taught them how to act right, just like Reyes had done to him all those years ago. So starved for attention. He spoiled them more than he should have, giving them choice cuts of meats for dinners while he settled on scraps himself. They were fiercely loyal to him too, ready to attack anyone or anything that threatened Jesse.

God, he hoped the dogs would take to Hanzo.

He never saw the other man as someone who owned pets. Shimada estate would only have kept working animals, dogs trained to fulfill a specific task and not a creature you doted on and loved. God, he hoped Hanzo would take to the dogs.

He stepped into the cool cabin and the kitchen, setting the bags on the counter and focused on putting everything away. It hadn’t taken him long to pick everything up at the store, just enough for dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow. From there, he and Hanzo could talk about plans for the week.

Colorado was beautiful no matter the season, just one look outside and Hanzo would be able to see that. Hanzo would want to see more of the majesty of nature, and national parks and historical monuments surrounded them, so of course, Hanzo would want to go exploring.

And Jesse would not be able to deny him that experience.

He could easily show Hanzo around, take him to all those different places he had discovered over the years, those photogenic spots on the mountains where you could see the wonder of creation and suddenly feel like, despite all the ugly in the world, there was a purpose. He could show him those quiet moments where nature takes over, and suddenly civilization feels so small because you could look up and suddenly see every star in the sky and it was immense and more magnificent than anything you could have imagined.

But he didn’t want to.

He did not want to take Hanzo anywhere. Instead, what he wanted was to be selfish and keep Hanzo here, in his home. He wanted to see those stars in Hanzo’s eyes when Jesse could not turn away from his magnificent gaze. Jesse wanted to feel those quiet moments when he kissed along the back of Hanzo’s hands and felt every tendon jolt with the same quiet electricity he felt. He wanted to see the ugly of the world disappear with every small smile Hanzo gave when he thought no one was looking.

Guilt twisted like a knife in his gut. He did not want to share the wonder of Hanzo with the world. He yearned to keep him here and marvel at his majesty selfishly.

A low, mechanical buzz drew his attention back to the present. Hanzo must have found the washing machine in his absence. He shut the door of the refrigerator and looked down the dark hall. He frowned and started forward.

The washing machine was in the bathroom, hidden behind a rolling closet door. Jesse should have seen the light beaming out into the dark hallway, but there was nothing.

He flicked on the light as he stepped into his small bathroom.

Hanzo had indeed been in here, setting up his items, as well as cleaning up Jesse’s toiletries. The sink was lined with all of Hanzo’s little things, meticulously placed out in a neat row along the sink's counter. Toothbrush, toothpaste, straight razor, brush, moisturizer, Advil. All in order from how the man would use them. On the opposite side of the sink sat Jesse’s items, less meticulously placed, but in order as well; Toothbrush, toothpaste, beard trimmer, razor.

Hanzo had scoured the sink clean. There was no longer a trace of hair or dollop of toothpaste in sight. The tub similarly had been scrubbed free of mildew and grime buildup that Jesse had just been too lazy to thoroughly clean. The shampoo, conditioner, and soap were also neatly laid out along the tub, again in order, Hanzo’s fresh scented, expensive items next to Jesse's dollar store Suave he bought with a coupon. There were no towels though.

Jesse chuckled at the juxtaposition, before turning to the washer and laying a hand on top of the dials, feeling the warmth of the machine radiate out into his skin. He opened the lid and dropped everything into the white basket that laid at his feet.

Hanzo had prepared.

He hefted the basket of wet clothes onto his hip before heading back out to the main room. When he first moved in, there had been a washer and dryer set in the kitchen, arranged one on top of the other. The machine barely worked, leaving all his things with a soapy residue, and the dryer clunked and vibrated through every load, threatening to topple over if the bottom wasn’t equally weighted. It was ancient and took up valuable kitchen space.

It was the first improvement he made on the house, ripping it out of the kitchen and creating new fixtures in the bathroom. He decided then that a dryer unit was unnecessary. He practically only wore the one outfit (granted it was in different colors, but he was a man of simple tastes) and jeans, flannel and t-shirts dried just as well when left hanging in the wind.

It also freed up more pantry space in the kitchen for him. Jesse preferred a well-stocked kitchen over warm, dry clothes any day.

He twisted the knob for the back door and watched his feet as he tried to maneuver outside while carrying a bundle of wet clothes. “Hey, Hanzo-” He looked up and stopped.

Maroon sheets hung damp on the line, still heavy with water and barely swaying in the light breeze. In front hung a row of Jesse’s freshly cleaned clothes, ablaze in rusty reds and oranges in the bright afternoon sun next to Hanzo’s dark garments. Each item hung neatly and aligned with the perfection he came to expect from Hanzo. His gaze moved down the line, to where his unmentionables hung neatly in the breeze. A hot flush crept down his neck as the thought of the assassin delicately handling his underpants, draping them on the line next to his own laundered clothes.

Jesse balanced the laundry basket on his hip as he stepped down, calling out to Hanzo again when he didn’t get a reply. He could feel the acid of worry creeping up the back of his throat and had to remind himself that there was not a danger here. They were safe in this place, without anyone else around.

Still, he did not get a reply.

He could not even hear the giddy barks of the dogs deep in the woods anymore. Usually, they were so loud and noisy, scaring off any trespassing bird or critter that dared get too close. The only time they were ever quiet was when they thought there was an intruder.

Worry twisted in his gut.

“Hanzo!” The laundry basket clamored as it bounced off the wooden porch. He sprinted forward and peeled around the back side of the laundry line. A basket of clean whites laid overturned in the mud, slowly soaking in the wetness with his yellow lab standing over it.

London’s head was down as she stared intently in front of her, her dark eyes fixated in front of her. She turned her gaze away and trotted over to Jesse, standing in front of him. She gave a low, gruff bark of warning as she leaned her weight against Jesse’s legs, preventing him from moving closer. Protecting him.

In front of him, Hanzo lay on his back covered in wed, dark mud. On top of his chest was Bandit, pinning him down into the earth, his face buried in the side of Hanzo’s neck. Short bursts of whines and yips echoed out as the dog struggled to stay on top of the other man’s broad chest, his paws scrambling in the mud, attempting to get closer to the man.

And Hanzo laughed. His hands were burrowed into the fur at the back of the dog’s neck and pulled the animal closer to him, stroking the steely blue coat and smearing mud all over the animal.

“Hanzo!” Jesse patted the lab and tried to untangle himself from her, only to find that the dog would move to block his way further.

Bandit’s whole body turned at the sound of Jesse’s voice. He scrambled to stay on top of Hanzo, only to fall into the mud and lean against the man’s side. His tail beating furiously on Hanzo’s shoulder and face as his whole body seemed to wag.

Hanzo laughed, grabbing the dog by the back of the neck as he managed to sit up. “Jesse,” He said before Bandit turned and knocked him back down, licking furiously at his face and neck again.

To his surprise, Hanzo just fell back, pulling the dog back on top of him. His hands were stroking at the dog’s black, pointed ears. “What is-”

Bandit yipped and twisted again, using Hanzo’s stomach as a launching pad before sprinting to the end of the laundry line and back.

“Hey!” Jesse scolded. He caught the dog by the collar and pulled him back, offering his other hand out to the man lying in the mud. “You ok?”

The lines around Hanzo’s eyes crinkled as a broad smile broke out, and another rumble of laughter flooded out of the assassin. He took the man’s hand and sat upright with a grunt. Bandit straightened against his hold, leaping up to vault against Hanzo again. He let out another loud yip, his front paws dancing in the air until the Japanese man pulled him into his lap.

“You didn’t tell me you had dogs,” he said.

Jesse felt his tongue lay heavy in his mouth as he looked at the man seated still in the muck. Splatters of brown were drying against his cheek and matting the loose, dark hair to the back of his neck. Large paw prints smeared against his shirt, along with several small puncture holes. He was sure any moment now, Hanzo would realize how wet and cold and dirty he was. He would see the basket of previously clean things now soiled again, and that scowl of disapproval would once again grace his features, but it never came.

Hanzo smiled at the excitable dog in his lap, still demanding to get closer even though both arms were wrapped around him and holding the mutt tight in his arms. “When did you get them?” His eyes seemed to dance with joy as they finally looked up and met Jesse’s.

“Couple years back,” Jesse muttered, his hand carefully stroking against London’s yellow fur, trying to get the lab to relax. “Both rescues,” He managed to speak only the basics, watching as Hanzo’s gaze went back to the Blue Heeler in his lap and cuddled the dog close again. “Didn’t bring ‘em to base ‘cause I didn’t know how long I’d be out there.”

“Do they have names?” Hanzo asked. “Father had dogs, but they were unnamed. They were working animals and not pets.”

Jesse knelt down, careful to not get into the mud himself. London leaned heavily against his side. “London is the Yellow Lab mix. Got her from a man that yelled at her when she was little, so she don't like men much. She’s an old girl, so don’t think she don’t like you, you gotta earn her trust.”

“And this one?” Jesse gawked as he watched the gruff heir to the Shimada estate press kisses along the dog’s muzzle, relishing in the delighted whines the dog produced as he licked at Hanzo’s face affectionately.

“Bandit. Blue Heeler best I can tell. Got him in Arizona, after he decided to steal away my entire burger when I wasn’t looking. The name felt earned.”

Hanzo let out a hum of approval and tested the name out himself. The dog’s ears perked as he leaned against Hanzo’s collar.

“I swear they are trained and well behaved. The dogs ain’t used to visitors up here and-”

“It is fine,” Hanzo stated. For the first time, he pushed the dog back and moved to stand, grunting with the effort and placing a hand against the small of his back. “They are delightful.”

Jesse swallowed, trying to get his tongue to work as he stood up himself. “I meant to warn you, I swear. They sometimes get a little-”

That laugh came again, rich and full as Hanzo holds his hands up to stop him from continuing. “It is no issue. They are dogs and act as such. If you want to apologize though, I am in need of clean clothes and a shower.”

Jesse meant to reach up and wipe the spot of mud off of his face. He did not intend for his fingers to linger, but somehow, his hand was cupping the back of Hanzo’s head and pulling him forward.

Hanzo’s soft lips moved slowly against his own. Jesse smiled against him and muttered a quiet apology as his hand slowly swept down Hanzo’s neck, feeling the tenseness of his muscles relax as his hand moved over his shoulder and down his side. Warmth radiated out from the other man’s body as Hanzo’s chest pressed hard against his own until Jesse was sure the other man would be able to feel how hard his heart was racing. How eager he was to hold the other.

Hanzo’s fingers slowly threaded through Jesse’s hair, teasing along the back of his neck and holding him in place, not wanting Jesse to move away. His other hand traced down the line of Jesse’s spine, feeling every small bump along the way until it came to rest on his hips.

It was different, kissing Hanzo out here in the wild mountain air. The urgency of the past seemed to melt away as they moved together without hurry.

Jesse reluctantly pulled away as he felt a hard nose jab into the back of his knee. “Shower,” He licked his swollen lips, still able to taste Hanzo. “I should-” He pulled away, only to have his shirt stick to the wet mess of Hanzo’s own. “I will clean up out here while you shower.”

Hanzo laughed again, pressing his forehead against Jesse’s collarbone. He smelled of earth. “You will need to clean up as well, I fear.”

“It was worth it,” He smiled, hands slowly tracing along Hanzo’s flank, holding him tight and not releasing the other man yet. Another jab at the back of his knees and he reluctantly turned away to look down at the unimpressed gaze of London. “Fine. We’re done, see?” He held up his hands in defeat.

Hanzo’s laughter echoed in his head as he watched the man head up the back porch and peel away the muddy layers of clothing he wore and draped them over the railing until he was in nothing but his underwear. Beside him stood Bandit, whining and pawing at the man for more attention, which he readily gave, bending down and kissing along the dog’s muzzle one final time before disappearing into the house, shutting the door behind him.

Jesse’s hand went to the back of London’s ears, slowly stroking the animal against him as his mind replayed Hanzo standing there, covered in muck up to his neck. The way Hanzo laughed as he allowed the dog to cuddle deep into his lap, not caring about the mud prints of drool that was left behind. Hanzo, who smiled up at him with such beautiful dark eyes.

He is the most beautiful sight Jesse had ever seen.  
____________

“Ya know, Bandit don’t take easily to most,” Jesse leaned back in the chair and raised the bottle to his lips, taking a slow drink as he watched the man next to him curled up in his chair. The dog in question was curled up on the assassin’s lap, his chin resting on Hanzo’s shoulder.

Dinner had gone more smoothly than he thought possible. He was sure the moment he mentioned grilling steaks and potatoes, Hanzo would have found some reason to object. Instead, the other man seemed delighted to watch Jesse’s skilled work. They retired to the back porch with a cooler full of beers and two chairs to overlook the valley of the mountain behind them and the dogs at their feet.

Conversation came comfortably to them, and the playful banter over dinner slowly melted away to a one-sided discussion of Jesse retelling stories of his past. Hanzo contently listened, only speaking up to call Jesse out on his bullshit. For once, Jesse found he did not mind when he was playfully ribbed. Hanzo seemed enchanted, and that is all that mattered to him.

Hanzo let out a low hum as an answer. His deft fingers rolled down the dog’s spine as he looked out at the scene before him. The sun had set low in the sky and set the world a beautiful velvety blue. Across the mountain, he could see the flicker of little yellow lights of other cabins against the trees. Overhead, the stars blazed brightly with the low hanging moon. It was a beautiful sight.

Jesse took another long drag of the beer in his hand, smiling as his free hand slowly stroked along the muzzle of the other dog. London groaned lazily, raising a paw to sit on Jesse’s knee as she leaned heavily against him.

Jesse’s eye moved back to Hanzo, watching the gentle caresses of those dangerous hands along the side of the sleeping dog lapped lazily at Hanzo’s chin and neck with affection. Jesse felt a tightness in his chest as the man did not even care that his meticulous beard was now standing at strange angles. Hanzo did not seem to mind the smell of wet dog or the terrible dog breath he knew followed Bandit everywhere. Jesse could hear the low, whispered coos of affection as Hanzo nuzzled. “Babe, if you keep holding my dog like that, a man’ll get jealous.”

London grunted and nudged his hand when he stopped. His hand moved back behind the old girl’s ears and began their gentle massaging again. She settled back against his thigh and let out a long, content sigh. For once, she is not competing for Jesse’s unbridled affections, and for that, she seems to have accepted Hanzo’s presence readily.

Hanzo gave another hum and turned his eye over to Jesse, a wicked grin slowly crested over his relaxed features. “Are you saying you would rather be in my lap?” He asked. “If that is the case…” He left the sentence hanging in the air and watched as Jesse’s eyes slowly went wide at the implication.

“It’s just,” The cowboy stammered and sat up straighter, jolting the other dog to sit up. “You know, that is,” He found only the barest beginnings of sentences coming through his struggling mouth. “I’m too big for that,” He finally managed.

Hanzo chuckled. He slowly uncurled his arms from around the dog and moved to stand. Bandit took the hint, leaping off his lap and walked over to the standing crate in the corner of the porch to lay down.

Neither man spoke but took it as a sign to retire for the evening. Jesse gathered the two empty bottles in hand as Hanzo wrapped the blanket on the chair tighter around himself as they both headed in, London at their heels.

“Well,” Jesse sighed and looked at the tired form of the other man. “We should, you know, get to bed.” He set the empty beer bottles on the counter and turned back to Hanzo, shoving both hands deep into his pockets and stood there in silence, waiting for the other man to speak. Or move. Or something.

Hanzo nodded but did not move. Instead, he looked over to the old television in the corner. “It is still early.”

_________

It started as a mild tingle that radiated across Jesse’s shoulder. A phantom pain, he told his sleep addled brain as the sensation of tiny needles dancing under his skin failed to alleviate after several minutes. Instead, the ache intensified as he flexed his prosthetic fingers and found a weight against his side.

He moved his arm to wrap around the body next to him. He expected his fingers to brush against the coarse fur of London, who had a habit of curling up on his side when he fell asleep watching a movie. His fingers rolled down the blanket, and the body next to him shift. A long arm curled around his waist and pulled him in tighter. His fingers brushed against bare skin, warm under his touch and soft. Slowly, the world focused and the night came back to him.

It was a shame to call it a night so early when the sun had barely set, and Jesse still had energy. Hanzo had directed his attention to the old box TV in the corner of the room. Jesse found it at a thrift shop years back, collecting a mountain of dust, but otherwise in working order. He had bought it right out with a cardboard box full of VHS tapes. Jesse amassed a grand collection of forgotten movies, some of which were great, forgotten classics while others were dated and old. He loved watching them either way.

But when laying low, there were few options when it came to entertainment, and his brain could only focus on a book for so long. Jesse found himself rather fond of the old black and white westerns where the man in the white hat had to battle against a stock villain looking to rustle cattle.

Hanzo had laughed at the explanation, then encouraged Jesse to educate him on vintage Hollywood. Together they sat and sifted through the box of videos until Hanzo picked one he deemed fit to watch, an old comedy. Reyes was the one to introduce it to him years ago. The problem with old comedy movies was that they never seemed to hold up well over time. He voiced a warning to the other, but Hanzo remained eager, stating that the film had won several awards for comedic writing.

Jesse could never deny him anything.

It was a fairly standard comedy; lost luggage and mistaken identity leading to a chase scene inside a Chinese Dragon. Jesse found himself losing interest though as Hanzo curled up against him, resting his head against Jesse’s shoulder and wrapping his arm around his middle.

Jesse felt his heart begin to race again as he remembered the gentle way Hanzo stroked his arm and chuckled at the antics on the screen. He didn’t make it to the end of the film. Hanzo hadn’t either.

Across the room, the Television hummed with static.

Jesse let his finger slowly work up Hanzo’s shoulder to the curtain of inky black hair that spilled over Hanzo’s shoulder and framed his face. He carefully tucked the strands behind Hanzo’s ear and marveled at the man in his arms.

He shifted slightly and turned towards the other man. Jesse continued to stroke his hair back, out of his face and over the back of his head. He ached inside, wanting to tilt his face upward and kiss him out of his slumber. Jesse wanted to feel the firm press of Hanzo’s arms around his neck, drawing him in close and threading his fingers through Jesse's hair. He yearned to stay on that couch all day, his arms and legs entwined with Hanzo's until they were nothing but a knot of limbs. He wanted to feel the hot breath of the other man against his skin.

It took all his willpower to pull himself away. The thought of morning breath was what ultimately made it possible. He could not bring himself to kiss the man and taste like stale beer and an ashtray.

Carefully, Jesse twisted himself away, lifting his sore arm away. He cradled Hanzo close in his arm and slowly laid the other down onto the could. He pulled the blanket around the other man and marveled at how peacefully the other man slept, despite the jostling.

He sat there a while longer, wanting the moment to last. Wanting to curl up with Hanzo on the couch now and kiss him into oblivion.

London whined. She sat in the doorway; her head cocked to the side as she waited patiently for Jesse to let her outside. He grunted as he stood, moving over to his dog and stroking her ears lovingly as he opened the back door.

Bandit was waiting on the other side. He stretched out his front legs and let out a loud high pitched yawn before bounding into the woods, followed closely by his sister.

Jesse chuckled and moved back into the kitchen, pulling out a cup full of dried dog food and headed back outside to the two dog's bowls and poured them their breakfast.

The sound of dog food brought both animals back to the porch, tails furiously wagging as they devoured their meal in several swift gulps. He reached down and patted both of them gently on their flanks.

The next step was to take a shower. Something long and warm to soothe Jesse's aching muscles and give him time to plan out the day. He needed to relieve the ache inside of him that demanded he returned to Hanzo immediately and kiss the hell out of him.

“You are up early,” A gentle hand rested on his shoulder and carefully stroked along the back of his neck.

Jesse leaned into the touch and let his eyes closed as he relaxed. “Not really, figured you would want to see the lake and the sights. Should have been up hours ago if we want to make a full day of it.”

Hanzo’s thumb rolled along the back of his neck, teasing the short hairs. His touch was like a jolt of electricity running down his spine and settling in his fingertips. They had a week together he told himself as he leaned further into the touch as blunt nails traveled up the back of his scalp. It was selfish of him to keep Hanzo here without consent. Egotistical to assume that Hanzo wanted the same things he did.

“I think,” Hanzo’s voice was smooth as he continued the slow stroke through Jesse’s hair. “What I really would like to do today is nothing.”

Jesse released the breath he didn’t know he had been holding. He turned and looked up at the man standing over him and smiled. “Well, nothing is something I excel at.”

 

_____________

The late afternoon sun pooled in over the pair, washing them in the golden glow. True to his word, Jesse excelled at doing nothing, and Hanzo found himself enchanted with the silent day. The dogs came and went as they pleased. Bandit found the pair far too inactive for his energy, demanded to be released into the wild to chase and hunt any poor forest dwelling animal that happened to cross his path. London though stayed near. She curled into the corner of the room and lazily watched the pair until she decided Hanzo was safe, and promptly fell asleep.

Much like her master, Jesse dozed peacefully. His body draped in Hanzo arms splayed wide in the other man’s lap.

Hanzo carded his fingers through McCree’s soft brown hair, relishing in the quiet hums of approval the other human-made as he drifted further into unconsciousness. He gazed down at the serene face. Quietly, he traced alone the soft freckles that dotted along his cheeks, hidden below the brim of his wide hat. His finger traced up the line of his nose, feeling the slight bump of a long-ago injury that never healed right. The small scars across his bottom lip and disappeared into his beard. He ran his finger lightly over one of his closed eyes, then the other, feeling the tickle of the small hairs of his long eyelashes. Hanzo traced over the shell of Jesse’s ear, finding the tiny hole that once held an earring, now healed over.

Hanzo smiled at each little thing he found while mapping out each one of Jesse’s unique features. All those small details of his details he never was able to see before. All the things that made this man beautiful.

Slowly his hand moved down, over his thick neck, feeling the raised scar tissue of old injuries. Stories Jesse had yet to share. Hanzo’s hand ran over his chest, feeling that stable, steady heartbeat under the soft cotton of his shirt. He was real. He was here.

There was nothing else that mattered anymore. Not when he was here, and at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank my partner, 1silentmouse, for being an amazing artist and creator. Thank you so much for giving me such a wonderfully sweet art piece to work with. I was so excited to start working on this and I just wanted to make something soft and sweet to go along with it.


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